


Need

by Melodious329



Category: Kane (Band), Leverage RPF
Genre: M/M, hurt/comfort bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodious329/pseuds/Melodious329
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's in Portland for a Kane show but Christian's hiding a secret</p><p>Hurt/Comfort Bingo Square:  Motion Sickness</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own nor know the real persons after whom these characters are created

Steve hums softly to himself as he makes his way through the airport to his rental car. It’s another weekend in Portland, another gig with Christian and the guys, Kane back together again. There’s just something about playing with these guys, these songs. Steve loves to play his own songs, loves to have control, but the energy when Kane is together, the energy that Christian brings to it is infectious, exciting. Playing a gig never feels like work, someone should shoot him if it ever does because he’ll no longer deserve to play, but playing with Christian is just fun.

Being with Christian is fun. Christian brings out a different side to Steve, brings him back to a child-like excitement when everything was cowboys and Indians and damsels in distress. Christian is one of his best friends. Going to see Christian is like going home, except as much as his parents love him, he still worries about disappointing them. Christian is never disappointed, never expects anything different from him, never expects him to live up or down to his expectations. They snark and bitch at each other like an old married couple, but Christian always lets him know that Christian is proud of him. Christian is always excited for him.

Rented car keys in hand, Steve heads to his hotel room, taking a nap and a shower. As soon as he gets the call from the guys to meet up though, it’s just a whirlwind of music and shouting, bright lights and sweat, beer and Jack, and Christian bright and smiling and magnetic as he struts around stage in those tight jeans and strums on his hip, bites his lip.

They’re not drunk afterward, no matter how much they have drunk throughout the night. They’ve ended up back at Chris’s place, stumbling through the door more high on excitement and adrenaline and praise than on booze or pot. Christian has an apartment here, with a couch and a kitchen and a refrigerator, all things Steve hopes to take advantage of in the next few hours. There’s only one better way to get rid of excess energy after a show than hanging out with Christian.

“It’s just too bad I can’t get laid here,” Steve observes sagely, throwing his jacket over the back of the couch.

Rolling his eyes and looking away, Christian replies, “Pfft, no one’s stopping you.” He stops, holding onto the wall to toe off his boots then he makes his way into the kitchen.

Steve follows, throwing his arm around Christian’s neck, pulling Christian forward a little accidentally. “No, you are,” Steve insists. “You’re too damn famous,” Steve giggles. “God knows all the fans would notice if I went off with somebody that’s not you.”

Christian shrugs Steve’s arm off, “Sorry for interrupting your busy sex life,” Christian snorts and finally looks up, crystal blue eyes piercing in the half-light. Christian’s still so tense, so intense, even after letting off all that steam at the gig, like a spring wound too tight. Steve sometimes wonders why his calm doesn’t seem to rub off on Christian like Christian’s energy rubs off on him.

“Yeah, particularly if it was a guy I went off with,” Steve giggles. “That’s what you need, my friend, to get fucked.”

It’s an old joke between them, since Christian first realized Steve swung in whichever direction the wind blows. Christian’s straight but not narrow, Steve jokes to himself, but he loves to watch Christian stammer and blush whenever he says it. Just like now.

Christian’s eyes widen minutely before he cuts his look away, stiffly grabbing the handle of the refrigerator door and pulling it open, using it as an excuse Steve knows, to hide, to regroup.

“You offering?” Christian asks smarmily as he hands Steve a beer a moment later.

Steve tilts his head back to laugh at the invitation, but when he rights himself he immediately notices Chris raising his free hand to press on his temple.

“Hey, you ok?” Steve asks.

“What? Oh, it’s nothing,” Christian says easily, dropping his hand and opening his beer, but his eyes cut around the room weirdly, as if he’s looking for something. “Just need some sleep soon.”

“No problem,” Steve says easily, sobering. He knows that Christian actually has to work tomorrow. “I can leave…”

The offer has barely left his lips when Christian is saying no. It makes them both smile. They don’t get to spend nearly enough time together and Steve would have been disappointed to leave so soon. He would have been even more disappointed if Christian chose sleep over spending a little time with him.

They make their way to the couch with a couple extra beers so they don’t have to get up and a bag of chips Christian had around. Steve stretches his arm out along the back, curling it around Christian a little as the other man sits.

“So how’s your forehead?” Steve asks, thinking of how Christian held his right temple in the kitchen. He’s still pissed Christian got hurt, absurd as that sounds, and he’s also still pissed Christian didn’t tell him, didn’t tell anybody. Steve had to read about it on the internet and then had to wait in line behind Christian’s momma to kick the actor’s ass!

Christian just grins unrepentant, rubbing the still healing skin. “It’s gonna be an awesome scar,” he chuckles.

“Dumbass redneck,” Steve murmurs fondly, massaging Christian’s shoulder a little with the hand around the back of the couch.

They talk, and it’s easy and comfortable as always. But Christian seems a little distracted, putting his hand up to his temple a few more times, and scanning the room. It’s Chris’s apartment, what could Christian be expecting to find?

After only thirty minutes, Christian stands up abruptly. “Look, I just have to…”

Steve doesn’t find out what Christian had to do right then, because Christian takes one step away from the couch and loses his balance. It seems to happen in slow motion, Christian normally so graceful, spinning as he puts his foot out, tipping sideways without even flailing in an attempt to stay standing.

Really the whole thing happens before Steve can move off the couch or even put his beer down. Christian just twists awkwardly and falls, landing hard on the hardwood floor. Steve’s not as fast or as graceful as Christian normally is, and frankly has shit reflexes, but he’s getting up in an instant, practically pouring the beer out over the coffeetable as he tries to put the bottle down.

As soon as he stands up, though, he can see Christian on the floor, not sitting on his ass and laughing at his drunken clumsiness, but lying on his left side and curled up in the fetal position, his right hand holding his temple again.

“Jesus Christ, Chris,” Steve snaps, scared and confused as he kneels down near Christian’s head. What the fuck is happening? Was it the fall or was it before the fall? What could make Christian Kane drop like that, could make him writhe in pain incoherently?

Christian just moans at the sound of Steve’s voice and attempts to curl tighter, his face scrunched in pain and white teeth biting his bottom lip. Steve swears his heart skips a beat to see Chris in this much pain. Maybe he should call an ambulance.

“Chris, please,” Steve begs in a hoarse whisper. “What’s wrong?”

Please let him be ok, Steve thinks in the silence that follows. Just let him be ok.

After a long moment, Christian swallows. “Headache,” he whispers, his voice weak and thin, sounding not at all like the Christian Kane Steve knows.

“Headache?” Steve repeats incredulously, before remembering to lower his voice. Since when has Christian has headaches like this? What if it’s a fucking brain aneurism or a tumor? “Chris, I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Don’t,” Christian whispers through clenched teeth. “I have…pills. Just need sleep.”

So this has happened before, Steve reasons. And it sounds like Christian has already had it checked out, which frankly surprises Steve except that something this bad would undoubtedly interfere with Christian’s work.

But what is he supposed to do? Steve has never had a migraine, and though he does know some women who have chronic migraines, he’s never been around someone having a migraine right in front of him. He doesn’t want to hurt Chris more than the man is already hurting.

Steve’s hands hover over Christian’s curled form, before they land gently on Christian’s top arm. Slowly he slides his hand up to Christian’s neck. “C’mon, let’s get you into bed.”

Moving to a half-squatting position at Christian’s side, Steve manages to wriggle one hand underneath the curled form. He has to use all his strength to try to pull Christian up. Christian is tense and stiff, unable to help Steve at all. When finally Steve starts to pull him upright, Christian moans, “Noooo,” so low and wretched it breaks Steve’s heart to do this to him.

It’s Steve first instinct in response to Christian’s pain to pull the other man into his chest in an attempt at comfort. Maybe he meant to just get Christian into bed and spend the night watching over, but now Steve can’t imagine letting Christian go. But he’s surprised at the way Christian curls into him, the way Christian clenches his fists in the material of Steve’s sleeves, pressing his face into Steve’s neck and clinging, like he’s trusting Steve to protect him, to take the pain away. Steve only wishes he could.

Steve ends up clinging to Christian just as much in his helplessness. He knows that Christian is probably hiding in Steve’s throat from the light, sensitive to the volume of their voices, and after the pirouette, he knows Chris has vertigo. He can’t whisper soothing nonsense, can’t rub Christian’s back because of the nausea, he has no idea what will make things worse. So he just holds Christian, one hand low on Christian’s back just above the waistband and one hand on Christian’s neck, cradling.

But Steve knows that Christian needs to lie down, preferably not on the ground, and he knows that it’s going to be painful getting there, for both of them. He manages to get one knee up, foot flat on the ground to push them both up enough to get both feet under them, but the way Christian shudders in his arms, moans high and thin, pressing into Steve tighter, makes him feel like he’s hurting Chris on purpose.

Christian is panting into his neck, hurt little noises escaping as Steve grips Christian harder, feeling fresh sweat break out on Christian’s hairline while maneuvering them into the bedroom. Christian’s feet are uncoordinated and heavy, tripping Steve up. The whole thing is frightening, frightening that Christian is hurt this much and isn’t in a hospital.

The bedroom is blessedly dark and cool, and Steve knows that Christian’s bed will be soft. He kinda feels like a prince with his Sleeping Beauty as he attempts to lay Christian down, but Christian won’t let go, fingers still clenched tight in Steve’s sleeves like he can’t figure out how to relax. For some reason, Steve doesn’t try to pry off Christian’s hands, instead he awkwardly climbs on the bed, his knees on either side of Christian before he drops on his side and rolls them over so Steve is on his back, Christian face down on his chest.

Steve knows that Christian has got to be nauseous after that little maneuver and Christian’s face is in Steve’s hair, but Steve just continues holding Christian tight, his hands in virtually the same place on Christian’s body as they were before.

After a minute of practically holding his breath, though, Steve chances making them more comfortable, moves his hair out of the way, shifts so that they’re lying straighter on the bed. Christian hasn’t made a noise since Steve stood them up, God only knows if that’s a good or bad sign, but Christian is still shuddering, still gasping against Steve’s necks, longer breaths now like he’s trying to calm himself.

It’s agony lying there, Christian on top of him. He can’t sleep, he can’t move, he can’t help. Steve has too much time to think, think about Christian’s body fitting into his, Christian’s silky hair that Steve sweeps back from Christian’s face.

Steve remembers when they first met. Christian was prettier then, well, Christian is still pretty but Steve’s not gonna tell him. Christian seems to think he can hide it under stubble and flannel. Steve has always been attracted to him, but at first he was scared. Christian was so intense, sucking him in before he even knew what was happening. At that first party, he had asked Christian if he was straight and Christian had said yes. And that was it.

Surprisingly, it really has never been an issue. Things are easy with Chris, and Steve has plenty of bodies to warm his bed and his heart. He’s not one to pine over what he has no chance of getting when there are others that are within reach. But Steve can’t help but notice how alone Christian is with this. He’d bet money that no one but the doctor and the insurance company knows about these headaches, that no one is helping Christian. Steve would bet that if he hadn’t just happened to be present when this one hit…then no one would be holding Christian right now.

And right now Steve likes holding Christian, likes being there for him. Like everything else, this is too easy, like stepping off a cliff. Craning his neck, Steve looks down at Christian, after two hours now asleep on his chest. Steve runs his hands through brown hair, satisfied when Christian doesn’t stir, his face still peaceful and beautiful.

Steve shifts, closing his own eyes and trying to get comfortable enough to sleep for a little bit. Christian has got a lot of explaining to do before Steve’s flight tomorrow.

***

The next morning, Steve is woken first by the godawful noise of the alarm clock and secondly by a warm body moving off of him.

“Christian?” the word is out of Steve mouth, before his brain has really woken up, and he struggles to sit up. “Are you ok?”

Christian has the gall to look sheepish, sitting on the edge of the bed and slowly removing his hand from the alarm clock. “Yeah,” he says like he has no idea why Steve would be so fucking worried. “Sorry for…last night.”

“Fuck, Christian, you looked like you were dying last night! Give me a little more,” Steve snaps, frustrated, all of last night’s fear pouring out in anger.

Christian sighs and run a hand through his hair. “I’m fine now. Afterwards, the pain…just goes away.”

“How long have you been having headaches like that?” Steve queries further, pushing his advantage.

“Just a month or so, since…” Christian gestures to the healing gash on his forehead.

“Oh my God!” Steve exclaims angry, angry at Christian for getting himself hurt this bad. It was bad enough when Christian had just split open the muscles in his face, hitting the bone, but these headaches are too much. And for what? So Christian can get his way, the selfish bastard, so he can get a thrill and prove he’s the best fighter and the fucking tv show can get the best fight scene.

“Why?” Steve asks lowly. “What do these headaches mean?”

“I went to a doctor,” Christian says in his own defense. “He said that there was no reason for the headaches except my concussion, that it was post-traumatic or something. They should go away as I heal.”

“Should go away! Christian…you selfish fucker,” Steve growls quietly. “Does anyone even know? Is there anyone to check on you?”

Christian just stares at him, crystal eyes unyielding. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been there last night?” Steve continues.

Steve waits a beat for an answer, but Christian stays silent, apparently unwilling to fight about this, not that his non-participation is going to stop Steve. “You were just going to what? Lie there on the floor until it stopped?!”

“Goddamit,” Steve mutters, running his own hand through his blonde unruly hair and glancing over at the clock. “I have a fucking plane to catch.”

Christian nods and follows Steve to the living room where he left his shoes and keys. Christian does say one thing then. “Steve, thanks…for helping, last night.”

Incredulous, Steve spins around. “Shove it. Of course, I helped. You needed someone.”

“Apparently, I needed you,” Christian says with that impish, fake grin on his face.

Steve doesn’t slam the door on the way out. He’s pissed but he knows that this is the way that Christian is. It’s just like every time Christian has gotten hurt, just like Christian doesn’t take into account other people’s schedules, and as annoying as Christian’s thoughtlessness can be, Steve can’t stay mad at the guy for things he learned to accept a long time ago. Later he’ll call and they’ll both pretend that nothing happened.

Going back to his hotel room, he showers and changes, checks out having barely been in the room the whole time he was in Portland. But it’s not til he’s grabbed coffee and a muffin from a coffeeshop and is headed to the airport that he starts really thinking about what Christian said.

Apparently, I needed you.

It could mean nothing, but it’s Christian and he doesn’t say things like that. He doesn’t use the word need. Steve didn’t even do anything last night besides pick Christian up off the floor, there didn’t seem to be anything else to do.

And the words are so close to I need you. Suddenly Steve is thinking of how Christian always makes Steve feel appreciated, wanted. They don’t see each other as often anymore and Christian can’t remember schedules for shit, not even his own, but Christian is always saying he’s trying to get to LA, to Steve. He stops by as often as it seems he can. Steve thinks about how Christian looks when Steve goes off with a guy after a show, when Steve brings a girl to an event, how Christian looks every time Steve jokes about Christian getting fucked.

Christian’s in love with him. Steve has to move his car onto the shoulder then, coasting to a stop. If he’s wrong, he could make an ass out of himself and possibly ruin things with his best friend. But if he’s right…

Steve turns the car around. Damn his flight.

Quietly entering the set area, Steve hangs toward the back, not wanting to interrupt things and enjoying watching despite the knot in his chest, teetering between anxiety and euphoria. It’s still so strange every time he sees the behind the scenes of a tv show. But he can also see that Christian is tense, just like last night. Steve has to wonder if that has anything to do with Christian’s headaches.

Not an hour after Steve has gotten to set, it seems that his theory is right. Christian starts holding a hand up to his right temple and squinting his eyes. Steve is still debating whether or not he should say or do anything, warn anyone when Christian drops to his knees like a stone.

As Steve rushes forward he can see the looks of horrors on the other actor’s faces that must be mirrors of what his own face looked like the previous night. Except they’re not in love with Christian. Aldis backs up, scared and trying to call for a medic while Beth and Tim crouch down about an arm’s length away from Christian who’s folded over his knees, his head on the floor and his long hair shielding his face.

Steve can’t yell out or anything, can’t warn them off, but as Tim reaches a comforting hand out to Christian’s shoulder, Christian’s response speaks all too clearly. Christian shudders and growls a moan at the touch, flinching away from it.

They’re all surprised to see Steve as he walks onto the actual set, but Steve doesn’t have time to worry about anyone but Christian right now. Tim moves back, out of his way as Steve kneels down next to Christian.

“Christian,” he breathes right before he places his hand on the back of the actor’s head. To everyone’s surprise, Christian doesn’t flinch at the touch, doesn’t move at all. Steve finds himself breathing a sigh of relief before he whispers, “’K, baby, we’ve gotta stand up again.”

Steve gets a hand underneath each of Christian’s muscular shoulders and pulls Christian up a lot easier than he had last night when he didn’t know what he was doing. But just like last night, Christian curls into him fiercely, needing to curl around something, needing some kind of comfort, his breath like sobs against Steve’s neck.

But how are they going to make it to Christian’s trailer? Steve doesn’t think that Christian can walk that far and he can’t carry the muscle-bound actor. Fortunately, by the time, they’ve managed to stand up the medic is right there beside him.

“Is he having a headache?” the young woman whispers to Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve answers. He can practically feel the fear and confusion of Christian’s castmates behind him. But he feels oddly proud that he knows what’s happening, that Christian has trusted him with this information, even if Steve’s discovery was accidental.

“There’s a medic trailer here with a bed,” the woman says, pointing to the nearest trailer, and Steve practically melts in relief. “I’ll get his pills and some water.”

Steve leaves the door to the trailer open, but doesn’t turn on the light. The woman is back with a water bottle and an open bottle of pills before they’ve made their slow fumbling way to the bed. “He needs two,” she says and then leaves them for him to feed to Christian. Like that’s gonna be easy.

Pushing Christian to sit on the bed, Steve basically has to pry Christian away from him. Christian seems to feel better with something against his face, the floor or a pillow or Steve’s neck. Steve pushes a little on Christian chest, his other hand fumbling around Christian’s face. When Steve presses the pills against plump lips though, Christian opens for them easily. , Christian’s face is pinched and his eyes clenched shut,.

“C’mon, just a little water, baby,” Steve coaxes as he picks up the bottle next, pushing against Christian’s chest a little harder to separate them more. Christian’s face comes into view as he stops fights, his face pinches and eyes clenched shut as he stiffly leans his head back into Steve’s hand to drink.

He hears the door shut and the room gets even darker as he sets the water bottle on a small table. With them separated a little, Steve manages to climb over Christian and lie down on his back, before pulling Christian back on top of him, fitting them back together like pieces of a puzzle.

He’s less afraid now that he’s seen that the medic knows what’s going on and this time Christian relaxes in sleep within an hour. Steve curses himself a little for not finding those pills last night and making Christian take them. But Steve finds his own eyes growing heavy, Christian a warm weight on top of him.

Steve wakes with Christian still on top of him. But he can tell that Christian is already awake, just not moving. What he can’t tell is why. Whether Christian is still feeling the headache or doesn’t want to wake Steve, or whether Christian just doesn’t want to move away.

Steve contorts so that he can press a kiss into Christian’s temple. “Feeling better?”

Christian shifts a little, perhaps contemplating moving but Steve’s arms tighten around him. “Yeah,” Christian answers, his voice gruff, and Steve wonders whether it’s from pain or embarrassment. “You came back.”

It’s not a question obviously, but Steve feels the need to answer. “You needed me, not somebody. Christian, are you in love with me?”

Christian goes stiff and rigid, and Steve thinks that Christian is going to break his hold, move away. But instead Christian answers, “Yes, I am. But, it doesn’t…you don’t.”

Steve tilts Christian’s face up with the hand already tangled in long brown hair and presses their lips together. The kiss is gentle, despite its abruptness, slow, Steve slotting his lips around Christian’s plump top lip.

“Jesus, if I had known I had a chance,” Steve whispers, breaking apart for a moment only to kiss Christian’s bottom lip this time, swiping his tongue over it. His hands wander down the firm muscles of Christian’s back, over Eliot’s jeans. Steve can’t help squeezing that ass he’s never been able not to look at.

Christian makes a gasping noise that does not sound like denial to Steve. He grins against Christian’s lips.

“You have a thing for my ass?” Christian whispers teasingly against Steve’s lips, smiling himself.

“Have you seen your ass?” Steve questions.

“No, not exactly,” Christian answers thoughtfully.

“I’ve been looking at this ass for years,” Steve replies as he gives the ass in question another squeeze.

“You can have it,” Christian says seriously.

“Christian,” Steve starts, pulling back to look into blue eyes. “Have you ever been with a guy?”

Christian bites his bottom lip and then answers, “I only wanted you, darlin’.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat, but Christian’s not finished. “But I’ve been…experimenting,” Christian continues.

“Holy shit,” Steve thinks he’s gonna come in his pants as he imagines Christian touching himself there, playing with himself and thinking of Steve. He rolls Christian over so he can see the other man better, settling himself in between the thighs that Christian easily spreads.

“Fuck. Your fingers? Or a toy? Jesus, do you have a dildo?” Steve asks in a rush.

Christian’s eyes have turned wicked and dark, and Steve really wants to find out what’s going on in that mind, but then Christian’s eyes turn confused. “This isn’t my trailer?” he questions.

“No,” Steve groans, semi-collapsing on top of Christian and burying his face in the pillow. “This is the medic trailer and I’m not getting laid right now, am I? You tease.”


End file.
